Tripping Eyes and Flooded Lungs
by FractalBunny
Summary: Two musicians at the Sharpe Legacy Music Camp meet on a rooftop before sunrise. One of them is a snarky guitarist, the other is a reserved vocalist with a strange affinity for G-Eazy. The camp ends in a week and a half, and they're determined to make the most out of it. (Cross-posted to Ao3)


Chapter 1

"If all our life is but a dream, fantastic posing greed, then we should feed our jewelry to the sea…" Keith sang to himself, his legs dangling off the edge of the building. It was a little breezy for a Sunday morning, but he would never miss sitting on top of the science hall before the rest of the students were up.

"For diamonds do appear to be...just like broken glass to me…" Keith stiffened, surprised by the unfamiliar voice. He whipped around, his eyes narrowed with confusion.

"Who are you?" He asked, his voice more abrasive than he intended it to be.

"Me? I'm Lance. The question is, who are you ?" Lance tilted his head slightly to the side, smirking. Keith felt assaulted by his dark blue eyes, and turned away to look back out at the campus.

"Keith." He mumbled.

"Keith. That's a funny name for someone with such a pretty face." Lance's face went ghost white.

"Pardon?" Keith was suddenly very amused, grinning to himself.

"Pretty voice. I said pretty voice." Lance slumped his shoulders in shame.

"I'm pretty sure you said face." Keith teased.

"Lay off. I'm tired." Lance walked over, sitting next to Keith, surprising him once again. Keith blushed at how close Lance had chosen to sit next to him.

"How long have you been up?" He asked, his voice starting to shake.

"Oh, shit, don't even ask." Lance laughed sadly. "I don't wanna think about it. I'm not sure if I even slept."

"Want me to buy you a coffee?" Keith asked, biting his lip. He didn't even think of the gesture as romantic before he said it; Lance did look legitimately tired.

"Damn, that would be nice." Lance said, leaning back onto his hands and sighing. He looked out at the treetops and scattered buildings, smiling. "So, where do you come from, Keith?"

"Oh, uh, San Diego." Keith replied.

"Really? You seem like a cold weather guy, coming out here before the sun comes up." Lance laughed. "I won't judge, though."

"We don't get a lot of forty degree weather where I'm from. It's cool to experience it while I can." Keith sighed. "It probably sounds stupid."

"No, not at all. I mean, I'm from Chicago, which gets cold as shit in the winter, but I love when we visit family in Cuba. It's so, so dry in Chicago, and so humid in Cuba. Everyone else in my family hates the weird, sticky feeling, but I love it." Lance laughed. "Who sounds stupid now?"

"No, not stupid. Although, San Diego is pretty humid too." Keith laughed.

"So, what you're saying is," Lance started, grinning like a madman, "If I visit you in San Diego in the summer, and you visit Chicago in the winter, we both get what we want."

"I guess." Keith laughed. "So, you're vocals too, right?"

"No, actually, I'm guitar." Lance sighed. "I don't have enough power to do vocals."

"You sounded pretty good, though." Keith smiled. "I could help you out when I visit you." Lance turned his head away slightly, smiling softly. "What, weren't we gonna do that just a minute ago?"

"Yeah." Lance looked back out at the campus. "Man, this place is pretty when it's not full of asshole teenage savants."

"Yeah." Keith looked over at Lance, feeling every last bit of social energy he had drain from him in an instant. He had put in the effort, as much as a serial introvert could, but Lance might beat him energywise despite being half asleep.

"You come up here often?" Lance asked. Keith snickered.

"Yeah, every morning." He pulled his legs up to his chest. "I'm getting cold. I'm gonna head inside."

"What about my coffee?" Lance asked, his tone suddenly low and flirtatious.

"Right." Keith had already forgotten the seemingly passing gesture he had made earlier. "Let's go to Starbucks, then."

Keith stood up, walking towards the roof access door. Lance jumped up, following him like a small dog. Keith, despite being shorter than Lance, walked much faster, and Lance had to work to keep up.

When they got to Keith's car outside the res hall, Lance started to snicker. Then, he started to laugh .

Keith drove none other than a white 2005 Chrysler Pacifica, the ultimate mom van. On the back was a smattering of half-peeled-off bumper stickers, and the car was covered in hand-painted flowers and peace signs.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Lance asked.

"I have a band back home. We needed this huge ass car to carry Rolo's drumset around." Keith sighed. "The mileage sucks, there's no aux cord, and Nyma painted a bunch of random shit on it with her friends. I know. I know ." He got into the driver's seat, and Lance cautiously sat on the passenger's side, moving a few McDonald's bags and receipts out of his way.

"Do you ever...clean…it?" Lance asked, looking around. The car's interior was stained, most likely by soda or coffee by the looks of it, and there was trash everywhere.

"Yeah, once in awhile. I haven't really felt like it lately." Keith started the car, the engine emitting a few worrying noises before it turned over. "Starbucks works, right? Or are you a Dunkin Donuts kinda guy?"

"Whatever." Lance leaned back as Keith turned on the radio, setting it to 'CD'. "What, are you gonna light the car on fire with your mixtape?"

"I said I was here for vocals, but I didn't say what kinds." Keith laughed. "I'm here for pop vocals and solo rap."

"Rap? Really?" Lance laughed. "Prove it."

Keith pulled the car out of the space in a jerky but singular motion, causing Lance's head to lightly bump the headrest. He turned up the volume dial, and a beat started playing, Lance realizing the song a little too late.

Fried Rice by G-Eazy was blasting through the speakers.

"These girls wanna tie a kid down and keep me around, but I would never change, I'm a dog, I'm a hound," Keith was half rapping, half shouting along. "But I tell them what I wanna hear, they like how it sounds, till I'm gone with the wind and I'm lost, never found…" Lance was smiling like an idiot, watching Keith excitedly rap along to the classic song.

When they arrived at Starbucks, Keith turned the music down, a self-assured look on his face.

"Did I prove myself yet?" He asked. Lance had to admit, Keith's flow wasn't bad. His voice wasn't bad either, both for singing and rapping. Lance nodded, shrugging.

"You got me, man." He smiled. "You're a rapper."

"Hell yeah." Keith and Lance got out of the car, walking into the empty Starbucks. A lone barista brewed coffee behind the counter.

"What time is it? This place is dead." Lance checked his phone. "Shit, it's 5:45. on We're up early."

"I'm always up early. Lets me watch the sunrise." Keith walked up the counter, Lance tailing him unsurely. "Hey man, you ready yet? If not, we can wait..." A man turned around, his nametag reading 'Hunk'.

"Yeah, sorry, I didn't notice you walking in." Hunk sighed. "What can I get for ya today?"

"No prob." Keith scanned the menu. "Tall coffee, two creams, one sugar. What do you want, Lance?"

"Uh." Lance started at the expansive menu. He didn't usually go out for coffee, and when he did, he would have someone else help him order. Keith seemed to have no problem throwing him to the wolves. "I don't know, you have iced coffee, right?"

"Iced coffee, cold brew, and Frappucinos." Hunk said with a warm grin on his face.

"Frappucino?" Lance said, almost to himself. "Tall mocha Frappucino, I guess." Keith raised an eyebrow.

"Is that all?" Hunk asked.

"Yeah." Keith handed him a ten dollar bill, and dumped his change into the tip jar. Hunk got to work making the drinks. "Frappucino? Really?"

"What? I panicked. I think I got one a couple years ago." Lance sighed. "I'm not super into coffee. Don't judge."

"Shit. I live off it." Keith sighed. The two sat down at a table near a window to wait for their drinks. "So, you're guitar, right?"

"Yeah. Mostly electric but the band they placed me with wants acoustic." Lance sighed. "Damn, I really miss my band. Only me and the bassist made it in, and the drummer they put us with is shit. He can keep a beat, but he's a total dick."

"Well, your vocalist is probably pretty good, right?" Keith asked.

"She's good, but not my kind of good. She's that shy, country era Taylor Swift kind of good." Lance knitted his brow. "I need someone who can really...really kill it, you know?"

"Yeah." Keith turned his head to the side and saw that Hunk had placed their drinks on the counter. He walked over, grabbing them and bringing them back to the table.

"Thanks." Lance took a sip of his Frappucino and smiled softly. "This isn't too bad." Keith sipped his coffee and nodded in agreement. "I don't get you, man. One minute you're cockier than all hell and the next you don't want to talk to me."

"I'm trying here." Keith muttered. "I'm a huge introvert. I'm honestly faking a lot of the cockiness."

"Fake the cockiness with my band." Lance grinned. "You said you're pop vocals and rap. That's fuckin' killer. Do a song with us sometime."

"You know Mrs. Sharpe hates when people don't stick to their groups." Keith said, looking out the window. Mrs. Sharpe was the head of the extended summer music camp at the University of Colorado. It spanned two months, and with a bunch of hormonal high schoolers crammed into a single res hall, she had to be unforgivingly strict.

"Well, Mrs. Sharpe won't have to know, will she?" Lance's question was rhetorical. Keith smirked.

Lance whipped out his phone, quickly shooting a text to his bassist.  
 _  
Lance: Dude, I found an awesome vocalist._

 _Pidge: What's his name?_

 _Lance: Keith._

 _Pidge: You're trying to have him do a session with us, huh?_

 _Lance: Maybe…_

 _Pidge: Do we ask Sendak about this?_

 _Lance: God no. We'll tell him about it the day of._

 _Pidge: Rip_

 _Pidge: Get Keith's number and we can make a group chat._

"So, dude, what's your number?" Lance asked.

"You're finally asking?" Keith smirked. "Here, I'll put myself into your phone." Lance handed him the rose gold iPhone and he put himself in a contact.

"Thanks. I'll make a group chat with us and Pidge and we'll figure out a time. We could just make a shitty recording on my laptop or something." Lance checked his phone. "Jesus, it's only 6:00. Are you always up so early?"

"Yeah." Keith sipped his coffee again, feeling the warmth spread through his body. "Like I said, I like the cold."

"Yeah." Lance looked over Keith for another few moments, studying his face, his eyes, his lips, then moving to his hands. Lance's hands were rough from playing guitar for ten years, but Keith's looked soft, warm, gentle.

"So, you like Panic! At The Disco, too?" Keith asked after a couple minutes of slightly uncomfortable silence.

"Yeah, a little." Lance answered. "I was kind of a punk in middle school. I went through the whole 'you can't tell me what to do' phase. Now I just do my own thing but I'm chill about it." An idea formed in his head, and his eyes lit up. "I know which song we can do."

"Is is a Panic song?" Keith asked, leaning into the table.

"No, it's a new song by The Weeknd. We could do, like...a punk cover." Lance snickered. "Oh my god, Pidgeon is gonna love this."

"Haven't listened to them in awhile." Keith bit his lip, looking down. "What's it called?"

"False Alarm. It's like...this dance-punk song. We could get rid of the dance part!" Lance whipped out his phone, quickly texting Pidge the idea.

"Dude, you seem to forget, I'm a pop vocalist." Keith leaned back in his seat. "Anyways, if it started as dance-punk, we'll need a keyboard player to maintain the sound." A small gasp came from behind the counter.

"I couldn't help but overhear…" Hunk started, moving closer to Lance and Keith, "You guys need a keyboard player?"

"We're thinking about it." Keith said, his voice almost unnaturally neutral. Lance raised an eyebrow.

"I played keyboard in a band for like, three years. It's been a couple months since we split up, but I could totally do that for you." Hunk smiled. "We even went to that weird band camp at U of C."

"We're going there now!" Lance exclaimed.

"Ah, nice." Hunk snickered. "Man, it's been awhile since I heard anything about it. How's Mrs. Sharpe these days?"

"A bitch as always." Lance smirked, getting up and extending his phone to Hunk. "Here, put yourself in as a contact. I'll text you with details later. Name's Lance, by the way."

"Hunk, but you probably read that." Hunk quickly typed his number into Lance's phone and handed it back with a smile. "I need to get back to work, but I'm stoked, dude."

"Same." Lance walked back to Keith and sat back down. "That's how you network, don't forget it."

"Fuck you." Keith drank his coffee, unable to completely wipe the smile off his face. He couldn't help it; Lance's self-important attitude was strangely attractive.

"We are gonna burn that fuckin' school down!" Lance proclaimed, jumping out of his seat and striking a pose. "Sharpe is gonna burst into flames when she sees the team we've put together."

"Sure, Lance." Keith's mind went dark. It was one song, one single play, but Lance obviously had an ulterior motive. What the hell had he gotten himself into?


End file.
